Coulson descended the stairs, pretending to grab a travel guide from the table in the lobby. He overheard a man speaking to the receptionist, "Yes, I just rushed over from there... I didn't expect to run into it here... You're right, it is quite interesting..."
Due to the distance, Coulson could only catch bits and pieces of the conversation. Yet, from the few words he picked up, he concluded that the man might be British or at least studied British English, and was highly likely an academic.
Could this be an expert invited to the small town?
It wouldn't be too surprising. After all, Canada is part of the British Commonwealth, and despite its geographical position as America's backyard, there are many people here with relatives in Britain.
Many Canadians, due to the cold climate of their high-latitude homeland, admire the warm maritime climate of Europe and routinely study, vacation, or even live there, making friends and classmates.
Once Coulson heard the receptionist's gentle laughter, he knew they were having a pleasant conversation. To clarify the situation, he decided to move a bit closer.
But his approach wasn't clandestine, as the lobby was small, and there was no place to hide. Instead, he chose to openly walk over and join the conversation, confident in his charm.
"Hello, sir. I also just arrived. If you don't mind me asking, have you come from New York?" Coulson walked up to the front desk and turned to lean against it, smiling as he spoke.
"Yes, I just got off the plane." The man also smiled at Coulson, "I hurried over from a conference in Hong Kong. The weather here is rather cold, isn't it?"
"We're close to winter." The male receptionist operated the computer while smiling and said, "Your clothes are more suited for activities in the southern regions, or maybe California State. But definitely not Ontario, winters here are brutal."
"I thought New York was cold enough," Coulson pretended to sigh wistfully, "But the car had barely passed the border when it felt like the wind on the road was made of knives."
"An American? Well, every American I've met complains about the cold here." The receptionist shrugged, "Perhaps it would be better if you guys ditched your floral jackets and beach shorts. This isn't Hawaii."
Coulson saw the man with the black hair chuckle lightly, an amused observer's laugh. This showed that he was neither an American nor a Canadian, but found the subtle standoff between the two sides interesting.
Immediately seizing the opportunity, Coulson pretended to be dissatisfied, knocking on the table, "This is southern Canada, the travel guide says this here is the Hawaii of Canada!"
The receptionist and several female room service staff standing behind burst into laughter. A brunette walked up and said, "Dispose of your travel guide, Yankee. It even claims Newfoundland is a Little Greece of the Americas."
"If you're looking for warmth, perhaps you should head to lower latitude areas, like Southern China, Singapore, Malaysia." The man suggested to Coulson.
"Excuse me, Phil Coulson." Coulson extended his hand towards him naturally, and introduced himself.
"Sophop, thank you." The man shook hands with Coulson. Coulson could feel his fingertips were exceptionally cold, and his fingers skinny and dry, like branches.
When this sensation rose, Coulson instinctively lowered his gaze. The man's hand was thin and dry, his bones and veins clearly jutting out. There was a thick silver ring with an odd pattern on his middle finger.
"Doctor?" Coulson asked tentatively.
The man nodded and shook Coulson's hand again, "History. I do have some research in anthropology and folklore."
Just as Coulson was about to continue the conversation, the man named Sophop interjected, "It seems you've had a terrible day. I think you should get some rest."
Having said this, he picked up his suitcase and took the room keys handed over by the receptionist, proceeding up the stairs.
Coulson turned to watch him. When he had reached the top of the stairs, he looked back and gave Coulson a smile.
"Sweet dreams." Coulson heard him say.
After his departure, Coulson furrowed his brows slightly. He felt that there was a hidden meaning behind Dr. Sophop's last words.
For one, Coulson hadn't exhibited any negative emotions – on the contrary, he had behaved like a lively tourist here for a Canadian vacation. The phrase "terrible day" in this context almost sounded like a curse. It didn't seem characteristic of a humanities scholar's social interaction style.
After all, Coulson was an outstanding special agent with years of experience under his belt, having dealt with various experts. Though somewhat stereotypical, most of the experts he had encountered from the STEM fields were shy, reserved, and not eloquent. Some were even socially awkward. Experts from the humanities and social sciences were usually mild-mannered, cheerful, humorous, and good at socializing.
If he had to describe this historian called Sophop, Coulson would probably use words like mysterious and peculiar.
Every word Sophop spoke seemed cloaked in metaphoric innuendos, and yet, when he tried to sift for clues, there seemed to be none.
Perhaps his remark about the terrible day was merely referring to the fatigue from the long journey. This explanation wasn't completely implausible.
The most tiresome part of a journey is the journey itself, and it wouldn't be far-fetched to say that Coulson, having just arrived, had experienced a terrible day on his way here.
As for getting good rest and having sweet dreams, they're merely common platitudes, but something about them didn't sit right with Coulson.
It was then that he remembered what he had said about his areas of research - folklore studies and anthropology?
Truthfully, even in Coulson's long career as a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, he had never met scholars from these two fields. Who would study a discipline called anthropology? Apart from becoming an anthropologist, what other future was there for such a degree?
After contemplating this for a while, Coulson began chatting leisurely with the waiter, hoping to gather some information about any paranormal activities in the area.
After half an hour of chitchat, noticing that it was getting late, Coulson made an excuse to retire to his room and began digesting the information he had gleaned from his conversation with the waiter.
Theoretically, the occurrence of a paranormal event in a region could benefit the tourism industry, as it would attract enthusiasts of the supernatural, and many obscure locations might receive public attention due to famous paranormal events. There's no shortage of politicians who would seize this opportunity to gain both fame and wealth.
However, Niagara Falls was already a renowned tourist spot, attracting not only American and Canadian tourists but also those from Europe and Asia. There was never a lack of visitors.
This particular supernatural event manifested as a fog and, consequently, significantly reduced visibility. With the continuous fog in recent days, tourists on the Maple Leaf Trail, now in the last days of the leaf peeping season, couldn't enjoy the distant scenery. Visitors to Niagara Falls found the views lacking in comparison to previous visits.
No one knew how long this would last. If it continued and resulted in a long-term climate change, the natural beauty of Niagara Falls would be tainted.
After all, Canada is a vast country with a sparse population. There were not many locals here. The closest tourists came from New York and had driven for several hours not to view a veil of fog. Imagine the disappointment of those who had flown in.
As soon as Coulson entered the room they had booked, he saw the others sitting around watching a typical 3-split screen interview news program on the TV.
The center screen displayed the news anchor in the studio, the left showed the town mayor, and the right featured a climate science expert.
Simmons handed Coulson a bottle of mineral water and shook her head, saying, "Not much useful information. The expert says it's a short term climate change, but couldn't provide a definitive answer as to when it would end. He only suggested it might improve after the next drop in temperature."
The local citizens interviewed had a plethora of stories. Some claimed to have seen ghostly apparitions in the fog, while others claimed to have seen giant, mountain-like monsters. Others blamed factory emissions, while still others suggested it was a prelude to the return of a marine civilization.
"There was this interview with a paranormal enthusiast," Fitz added. "He said the fog is a paranormal phenomenon and a result of a curse by the Indians from a thousand years ago."
"Alright, the Indians again," May shook her head and said. "Every paranormal event in the Americas is blamed on the Indians. Can I call that guilt?"
"Don't be too blunt, May," Coulson said as he sat in a chair in the middle of the room. "Have you heard of folklore scholars and anthropologists?"
"What?" Fitz uttered, confused.
"I've heard of anthropology," Simmons nodded. "It's an interdisciplinary subject that covers a wide range, including sociology, psychology and other humanities, and archaeology."
"You have a PhD in psychology, right?" Coulson asked.
Simmons nodded and said, "I have dual doctorate degrees in psychology and sociology. However, humanities subjects are highly interconnected and overlapping. There are almost no isolated subjects in this field."
"How about folklore studies?"
"I've heard about it but I don't know anyone in the field," Simmons shrugged. "Presumably, it's another branch under sociology and humanities. You can just find a sociologist."
"Are you looking for an expert in this field?" asked May.
As soon as Coulson looked at her, May shrugged and said, "Don't you remember? My mom's a professor at the University of Hong Kong. The university is well known for its psychology and sociology departments. More importantly, one of my mom's colleagues specializes in East Asian folklore. I remember telling you guys about this during that ghost story gathering."
It suddenly dawned on Coulson. He seemed to remember such a gathering. Then he remembered Dr. Sophocles, who had said he had just come from Hong Kong.
"Can you contact that folklore scholar you know?"
"I can call my mom to ask, but I'm not sure if he knows anything about American folklore history, and he's quite old so I doubt he'd be able to come for an on-site investigation."
"Could you ask for me?" Coulson leaned forward with one hand on the bed. "Ask if he knows a historian named Sophocles."
May nodded, reached for her phone to make a call. But, just at that moment, everyone in the room saw a fog starting to form outside.